 CHAPTER 37 THE LAPS OF TWO YEARS Shakespeare said, all the world is a stage, we say, all the world is an omnibus. The young and old, the virtuous and wicked, the rich and the poor are invariably thrown and mixed up together, and yet their interests are always separate, few stretch out a hand to help a ragged or decrepit man into a vehicle, and the well-dressed draw back and avert their heads as the impoverished wretch forces his way with difficulty past them up to the vacant seat in the farthest corner. The moment a well-dressed individual mounts the steps of the omnibus, every hand is thrust out to help him in, and the most convenient seat is instantaneously accorded to him. And then the world's omnibus hurries along, stopping occasionally at the gates of a church yard to put down one of its passengers, and calling at some palace or some cottage indiscriminately to fill up the vacant seat. Away, away thunders the world's omnibus again, crushing the farthest flowers of the earth in its progress, and frequently choosing rough, dreary and unfrequented roads in preference to paths inviting, even and pleasant. Sometimes by the caprice of the passengers, or by the despotic commands of the masters of the world's omnibus, the beggar and the rich men change garments in places, and then the former becomes the object of deference and respect while the latter is treated with contempt and scorn. And the world's omnibus might makes right, but cunning frequently secures a more soft and comfortable seat than either. If a dispute ensues, and the question at issue is referred to the conductor for arbitration, he glances at the personal appearance of the complainant and defendant, and decides in favor of him who wears the better coat. Even stones or other implements obstruct the way of the world's omnibus. The poor and the ragged passengers are commanded to alight and clear them away. And yet when the vehicle stops for dinner at the inn by the wayside, the well-dressed and the affluent appropriate to themselves the luxuries, while those who cleared away the stones and who greased the wheels get only a sorry crust and sometimes nothing at all. And then away, away the world's omnibus goes again, amidst noise, dust, and all variations of weather. In the inclement seasons extra garments are given to the well-dressed and the rich, but none to the ragged and poor. On the contrary, their very rags and tatters are frequently taken from them to pay the prices of the hard crusts at the roadside ends. So goes the world's omnibus, and the moment the driver and conductor, who are its masters and owners, are deposited in their turn at the gates of some cemetery, their sun succeed them, whether competent or not, whether infants in swaddling clothes or old men in their dodage. And few, very few of those drivers know how to bold the reins. And thus it is that the world's omnibus is frequently hurried at a thundering rate over broken ground, even unto the very verge of some precipice, on which it would be inevitably dashed, did not some bold and trepid passenger emerge from his obscurity in the corner, rush upon the box, hurl the incompetent driver from his seat, and assume the reins in his stead. But mark the strange opinions of those who journey in the world's omnibus. The passengers, instead of being grateful to him who has thus rescued them from ruin, pronounce him the usurper of a seat to which he has no hereditary claim, and never rest till they have succeeded in displacing him and restoring the incompetent driver to his function. So goes the world's omnibus. None of the passengers are ever contented with their seats, even though they may have originally chosen those seats for themselves. This circumstance leads to a thousand quarrels and mean artifices, and constant shiftings of positions take place. One passenger envies the seat of another, and when he has succeeded in working his way into it, he finds to his surprise that it is not so agreeable as he imagines, and he either wishes to get back to his old one, or to shove himself into another. The passengers in the world's omnibus are divided into different sex and parties, each party professing certain opinions for the authority of which they have no better plea than the wisdom of their forefathers. Thus one party hates and abhors another, and each confidently imagines itself to be in the right, and all other parties to be in the wrong. And for those differences of opinion the most sanguinary broils ensue, and friendship, honor, virtue, and integrity are all forgotten as the evictive contention. But the world's omnibus rolls along all the same, and the driver and conductor laugh at the contests among the passengers which they themselves have probably encouraged, and which somehow or another always turn to their individual benefit in the long run. So goes the world's omnibus, so it has always hurried onwards, and in like manner will it ever go. Oh, say not that time has a leaden wing while it accompanies the world's omnibus on its way. Two years elapsed from the date of the old Bailey trials described in preceding chapters. It was now the beginning of December 1837. The morning was dry, fine, and bright, the ground was as hard as asphalt, and the air was pure, cold, and frosty. From an early hour a start elderly man well wrapped up in a large greatcoat, and with a worsted comforter coming up to his very nose, which was of a purple color with the cold, was seen walking up and down the front of the Guilds for Street compter, apparently dividing his attention between the prison entrance and the clock of St. Sepulcher's Church. At a quarter to ten on that same morning a private carriage without immorial bearings upon the panels, and attended by two domestics whose splendid libraries were concealed beneath drab greatcoats, drove up to the door of the house inhabited by the governor of Newgate. Inside that carriage was seated a lady, wrapped up in the most costly furs, and with a countenance whose beauty were enhanced by the smile of pleasure and satisfaction which illuminated it. Previously as the clock of St. Sepulcher's Church struck ten, the doors of the compter and Newgate opened simultaneously and with a similar object. From the compter issued Richard Markham. The portal of Newgate gave freedom to Eliza Sidney. They were both restored to liberty upon the same day, the terms of their imprisonment dating from the commencement of sessions during which they were tried. The moment Richard set foot in the street he was caught in the arms of the faithful Whittingham, who welcomed him with a kind of paternal affection and whimpered over him like a child. Eliza Sidney entered the carriage awaiting her at the door of Newgate and was clapped to the bosom of Mrs. Arlington. The vehicle immediately drove rapidly away in a northeasterly direction. Mr. Monroe was waiting for you at your own house at Halloway, said Whittingham to his young master, when the first abolition of joy was over, he's been ailing lately and he thought that this happy and fortuitous event would be too much for his nerves. Let us make haste to my excellent friend, observed Markham. I'm dying to behold once more the haunts of my childhood. Whittingham summoned a cab and he and his young master were soon rolling along the road which led to home. Two years imprisonment had produced a great effect upon Richard Markham, the intellectual cast and faultless beauty of his countenance still remained, but the joyous expression, natural to youth, had fled forever, and in its place was a settled melancholy which proclaimed an early and intimate acquaintance with misfortune. His spirit was broken, but his principles were not undermined. His heart was lacerated to its very core, but his integrity remained intact. Even though the gate of his prison had closed behind him, he could not shake off the idea that his very countenance proclaimed him to be a freed convict. At length the cab reached Markham Place. Richard glanced with a momentary gleam of satisfaction upon his pale countenance toward the hill on which stood the two trees, the rallying point for the brothers who had separated more than six years back beneath the foliage. Tears started to his eyes, and the ray of sunshine upon his brow gave place to a cloud of deep and somber melancholy. He thought of what he was when he bated due to his brother at that period, and what he was at the present moment. Then all was blooming and encouraging in his path, and now he felt as if the mark of cane was upon him. He lighted from the vehicle and entered the library where Mr. Monroe awaited him. He and his guardian were at length alone together. But how altered was Monroe since Richard had last seen him? His form was bowed down, his countenance was haggard, his eyes were sunken and his brow was covered with wrinkles. He glanced furtively and anxiously around him the instant the young man entered the room, and instead of hastening forward to welcome him he sank upon a chair covering his face with his hands. The tears trickled through his fingers and his breast was convulsed with deep sobs. In the name of heaven what ails you, sir, demanded Richard. My boy, you've come back at last, exclaimed the old gentleman scarcely able to articulate a wind through the bitterness of his grief, and the much-dreaded day has at length arrived. Much-dreaded day, repeated Markham, in unfeigned astonishment. I should have thought, sir, he added coldly, that you, professed yourself so convinced of my innocence, would have received you with a smile of welcome. My dear, dear boy, gasped the old man, God knows I am rejoiced to heal your freedom, and that same almighty power can also attest to my sincere conviction of your innocence. Believe me, I would go through fire and water to serve you. I would lay down my life, miserable and valueless, as it is to benefit you. But oh, I cannot, cannot support your presence. And the old gentleman seemed absolutely convulsed with agony as he spoke. I presume, said Richard, leaning over him, so as to be able to whisper in his ear, although there was no one else at hand to listen. I presume that you scorned the man who has been convicted of a felony. It is natural, sir, it is natural. But such a demonstration of aversion is not the less calculated to wound one who never injured you. No, no, Richard, you never injured me, and that makes me feel all the more acutely now. But hear me, I take God to witness that I love you as my own son, and that I am above such unnatural conduct as that which you would impute to me. My God, cried Markham impatiently, what does all this mean? Are you ill? As anything unpleasant occurred? If so, we will postpone all discussion upon my affairs until a period more agreeable to yourself. As Markham uttered these words, he gently disengaged the old man's hands from his countenance and pressed them into his own. He was then for the first time struck by the altered and care-worn features of his guardian, and without thinking of the effect his words might produce, he exclaimed, My dear sir, you have evidently been very, very ill. Ill, cried the old man bitterly, when the mind suffers the body is sympathetically affected, and this has been my case. If you have suffered much, Richard, during the last two years, so have I, and we have both only the same consolation, your innocence. You speak in enigmas, ejaculated Markham. What can you have to do with innocence or guilt, you who never wronged a human being? So strange came the expression of the old man's countenance, as Richard uttered those words that the young man was perfectly astonished, and almost horrified, and undefined alarms floated through his brain. He was in a painful state of suspense, and yet he was afraid to ask a question. Richard, suddenly exclaimed the old man, now looking our hero fixedly arid, fearlessly in the face, I have a terrible communication to make to you. A terrible communication, repeated Markham. Is it in respect to my brother? If so, do not keep me in suspense, let me know the worst at once, I can bear anything but suspense. I have never heard from nor of your brother, answered Mr. Monroe, and cannot say whether he is dead or living. Thank God you have nothing terrible to communication relative to him, exclaimed Markham, for he always had and still entertained a presentment that the appointment on the hill, beneath the two trees, would be punctually kept, and this hope had cheered him during his horrible imprisonment. But I will not keep you in suspense, Richard, said the old man. It is better for me to unburden my mind at once. You are ruined. RUINED, said Markham, starting as that dread word fell upon his ears, for the word ruined does not express one evil, like other words such as sickness, poverty, imprisonment, but it comprises and expresses an awful catalogue of all the miseries which can be supposed to affect humanity. RUINED, he cried, then catching it a straw, he added. I, ruined in reputation doubtless but rich in the possessions of which this world principally esteems, my property was all vested in you by my deceased father. I was not of age when I was condemned, and consequently the law could not touch my fortune when it filthed from me my good name. RUINED, RUINED in property and all, returned Mr. Monroe solemnly. Unfortunate speculations on my part, but in your interest have consumed the vast property entrusted to me by your father. Markham fell into an armchair, and for a moment he thought that every fiber in his heart would break. A terrible load oppressed his chest and his brain. He was the victim of deep despair. As one looked forth into the darkness of midnight, and seized at dense and motionless, so did he now survey his own prospects. The single consolation which, besides the hope of again meeting his brother, the real, the present, the tangible consolation, as it might be called, which would have enabled him to forget a portion of his sufferings and his wrongs. This was now gone. And a beggar upon the face of the earth. He found that he had not even the advantage of a good name to help him onwards in his career. Hope was quenched within him. A long pause ensued. At his expiration Markham suddenly rose from the armchair, approached his guardian, and said in a low and hollow voice, Tell me how all this has happened. Let me know the circumstances which led to this calamity. They were brief, said Monroe, and will convince you that I am more to be pity than blame. Long previous to your unfortunate trial I commenced a series of speculations with my own property, all of which turned out unhappily. The year 1832 was a fatal one to many old established houses, and mine was menaced with absolute ruin. In an evil hour I listened to the advice of a Mr. Allen, a merchant who had been reduced by great losses in America trading, and by his counsel. I employed a small portion of your property, with a view of recovering my own, and augmenting your wealth at the same time. Allen acted as my agent in these new speculations. At first we were eminently successful. I speedily released myself from difficulty, and doubled the sum that I had borrowed from your fortune. At the beginning of 1836 Mr. Allen heard of a gentleman who required a loan of a considerable sum of money to work a patent, which was represented to be a perfect mine of gold. Mr. Allen and I consulted upon the eligibility of embarking money in this enterprise. In a word we were dazzled by the immense advantages to be derived from this speculation. At that time it was shortly after your trial and sentence, Richard, I was ill and confined to my bed. Mr. Allen therefore managed this for me, and it is an extraordinary fact that I have never once seen the individual whom I lent an enormous sum of money. For I did advance the sum required by that person, and I drew largely upon your fortune to procure it. Oh, Richard, had this speculation succeeded, I should have been a wealthy man once more, and your property would have been more than doubled. But alas, this individual to whom I advanced that immense amount, and whose securities I had fancied, unexceptionable, defrauded me in the most bare-faced manner. And yet the law could not touch him, for he had contrived to associate Allen's name with his own as a partner in the enterprise. Rendered desperate by this appalling loss, I embarked in the most extravagant speculations with the remainder of your money. The infatuation of the gambler seized upon me, and I never stopped until the result was a ruin, total ruin to me and comparatively ruined to you. Comparative ruin, only comparative ruin, ejaculated Markham, his countenance suddenly brightening up at these words. Is there anything left of the wrecks of my property? Is there anything available still remaining? Speak if you answer me in the affirmative, if you announce the existence of never-so-small opinions, I will yet forgive you all. This house and the small estate attached to it are left, answered the old man, and totally unencumbered. I neither could nor would touch your paternal possessions. Markham felt indescribable relief from this statement, and he wrung his guardian's hand with the same gratitude which he would have shown had he that day received his inheritance entire. Thank God I am not totally wronged, cried Markham. I can at least bury myself in this retreat. I can daily ascend that hill where the memorials of fraternal affection stand, and I can there hope for the return of my brother. My dear sir, what has been done cannot be recalled, reproaches, even were I inclined to offer any would be useless, and regrets would be equally unavailing. This estate will produce me a small income, but enough for my wants. Two hundred pounds a year are certainly a beggar's pittance when compared with the inheritance which my father left me. But I am still grateful that even the means of subsistence are left, and you, Mr. Monroe, upon what are you subsisting? I still attend to the wrecks of my affairs, replied the old man. And then I have my daughter, Ellen, who earns a little with her needle. You shall come and take up your abode with me, you and your daughter, and share my income," interrupted the generous young man, who saw not before him an individual that had deprived him of a large fortune, but an old, old man bent down by the weight of numerous and deep afflictions. Monroe wept at this noble conduct on the part of his ward, and strenuously refused to accept the proffered kindness and hospitality. Markham urged, bagged in and treated, but the old man would not accede to his wish. "'You have not told me what became of your friend, Mr. Allen,' said Richard, after a pause. "'He was an honorable and upright man,' was the reply, and the ruin which he had been the means of entailing, though innocently upon me broke his heart. He died three months ago. And what became of the infamous cheat whose schemes have thus killed one person and ruined two others?' "'I know not,' answered Mr. Monroe. I never saw him myself, nor did he even know that there was such a person as myself connected with the loan which he received. Certain commercial reasons, too long to be explained now, made me put forward Allen as the person who advanced the money, and conducted the entire business as a principal and not as an agent. Thus no communication ever took place between me and this George Montague.' "'George Montague,' ejaculated Richard. "'Yes, he was the villain who has plundered us.' "'George Montague again,' murmured Richard, as he paced the room with hurried and uneven steps. "'Why is it that this name should constantly obtrude itself upon my notice? Wherefore should I be perpetually condemned to hear it uttered, and always coupled with epithets of abhorrence and approach, and why should I be amongst the number of that miscreant's victims—strange combination of circumstances?' "'Are you acquainted with this Montague?' demanded his guardian. "'The name seems to produce a singular effect upon you.' "'I am not acquainted with him. Like you I have never seen him,' said Markham. "'But I have heard much concerning him, and all that I have heard is evil. "'Surely, surely justice will someday overtake a miscreant who is constantly preying upon society, and who enriches himself at the expense of his fellow creature's happiness. Some time longer was devoted to conversation upon topics of interest to Markham and his guardian, and when the former had partly succeeded in tranquilizing the mind of the latter, the old man was suffered to take his departure. CHAPTER XXXVII THE MISTERIES OF LONDON CHAPTER XXXIII THE VISIT We propose to follow the history of Richard Markham a little farther, ere we return to Eliza Sydney, whose adventures, after her release from Newgate, will it is believed excite the liveliest interest in the minds of the readers. As soon as Mr. Monroe had taken his departure, Richard made Whittingham acquainted with his altered prospects, and they too together settled certain economical alterations in the establishment at the place which were calculated to meet the delimited means of its master. Who it will be remembered, was now of age and, consequently, invested with the control of the little property that the villainy of George Montague had left him. Markham then proceeded, attended by Whittingham, to visit the various apartments of the old mansion from which he had been so long absent, and which recall to his mind reminiscences that circumstances had made painful. In one apartment he had been wont to sit with his revered father of an evening, and surveyed the adjacent scenery and the mighty city from the windows. In another he had pursued his studies with the dearly loved brother whom he had lost, whichever way he turned, visions calculated to oppress his mind rose before him. He felt like a criminal who had disgraced an honorable name, and even the very pictures of his ancestors appeared to frown upon him from their antique dust-covered frames. But when he entered the room where the spirit of his father had taken its leave of this world, his emotions almost overpowered him. He wept aloud, and even the old butler did not now endeavor to comfort him. He had returned, branded with shame, to a house where he had received an existence that was full of hope and honor. He had come back to a dwelling in the rooms of which were hung the portraits of many great and good men who were his ancestors, but amongst whom his own likeness could never take a place, for fear that some visitor to that mansion should write the words freed convict upon the frame. For though conscience reproached him not for guilt, the world would not believe his innocence. That night he could not sleep, and he hailed the dawn of morning as a shipwrecked mariner upon the raft beholds the signal of assistance in the horizon. He rose and hastened to the hill, where he seated himself upon the bench between the two trees. There he gave free vent to his tears, and he was relieved. Suddenly his eyes caught sight of letters carved upon the bark of his brother's tree. He looked closer, and to his indescribable joy he beheld these characters rudely but deeply cut on the tree. Eugene December 25th, 1836 Thank God my brother lives, exclaimed Richard, clasping his hands together. This is an intimation of his remembrance of me. But oh, why did he desert me in my need? Wherefore came he not to see me in my prison? Last year's must-yet elapsed ere I clasped him to my heart. Let me not repine, let me not reproach him without hearing his justification. He has revisited the hill, and he chose a sacred day for which he no doubt deemed a sacred duty. It was on the anniversary of the nativity of the Saviour that he came back to the scenes of his youth. Oh, Eugene, I thank thee for this. It is an assurance that the appointment on the 10th of July, 1843, will be punctually kept. From the moment when his eyes rested upon the memorial of his lost brother, carved upon the bark of the tree, Richard's mind became composed and, indeed, comparatively happy. His habits, however, grew more and more secluded and reserved, and he seldom ventured into that mighty Babylon whose snares had proved so fatal to his happiness. One day it was about the middle of March, 1838. Richard was surprised by the arrival of a Phaeton and a para at his abode, and he eagerly watched from the window to ascertain who could have thought of paying him a visit. In a few minutes he was delighted to see Mr. Armstrong, the political martyr with whom he had been acquainted in Newgate, a light from the vehicle. Richard hastened to welcome him with the most unfaithful sincerity. You see, I have found you out, my dear young friend, said Armstrong. I miscalculated the date of your release from that abominable hole, and a few weeks ago was waiting for hours one day in Guiltspur Street to welcome you to freedom. At length I did what I ought to have done at first, that is, inquired of the turnkeys whether you were to be released that day or not, and behold I found that the bird had flown. I should have written to you, said Richard, for you were kind enough to give me your address, but really my mind has been so bent upon solitude. From which solitude, interrupted Armstrong's smiling, I am come to drag you away. Will you allow me to dispose of the next ten days for you? Or do you mean my good friend, inquired Markham? I mean that you shall pass that time with me at the house of a friend at Richmond. Solitude and seclusion will never wean you from contemplation of your past sorrows. But you know that I cannot go into society again, said Richard. This is absurd, Markham. I will hear no apologies, and you must and shall place yourself at my disposal. Return the old gentleman in a kind and yet positive manner. Mr. Whom do you wish to introduce me, inquired Markham? To an Italian immigrant who has only arrived in this country with his family, but the honour of whose friendship I have enjoyed for many, many years, I must tell you that I have travelled much, and that Italy has always been a country which has excited my warmest sympathy. It was at Montoni, the capital of the grand duchy of Castossalia, that I first met Count Altaroni and his extremely liberal political opinions, which completely coincide with my own, were the foundation of a staunch friendship between us. Ten years ago he was compelled to fly from his native land when he sought refuge in England. His only child, a beautiful girl of the name of Isabella, thus obtained in English education, speaks the language with fluency. Two years ago he was allowed to return to Castossalia, but a few months back fresh political events in that state forced him once more to become an exile. He arrived in England a month ago and has taken small but commodious and picturesque residence at Richmond. His means are ample, but not vast, and he therefore lives in comparative seclusion, other reasons moreover inducing him to avoid the pomp and ostentation which noblemen of his rank usually maintain. Thus in addressing him you must drop the formality of my Lord, and remember also that his daughter chooses to be called simply Miss Isabella, or the Signora Isabella. And how can I venture to present myself to the noblemen of high rank, and his wife and daughter, knowing that but a few weeks ago I was liberated from a jail, demanded Richard, somewhat bitterly. The count is not heard of your misfortune, and is not likely to do so, answered Armstrong. He pressed me yesterday to pass a few days with him, and I happened to mention that I was about to visit a young friend meaning yourself, in whom I felt a deep interest. I then gave him such an account of you that he expressed desire to form your acquaintance. Thus you perceive that I am taking no unwarranted liberty introducing you to his house. As for the danger which you incur of your history being known, that cannot be avoided, and it is a point which you may as well risk now as upon any future occasion. A man of the world must always be prepared for reverses of this kind, and I think that I am not mistaken in you, Markham, when I express my opinion that you would know how to vindicate your character and assert your innocence in a manner which would disarm resentment and conquer prejudice. At least assume as cheerful an appearance as possible, and believe me, you will find yourself right welcome at the dwelling of Count Altarone. Reassured by marks of this nature, and warmed by the generous friendship displayed toward him by the Republican writer, Markham's countenance again wore a smile, and he felt more at ease than he had done ever since his misfortune. At the presence of one who took an interest in his welfare, the prospect of enjoying pleasant society, and the idea of change of scene, combined to elevate his spirits and create new hopes in his breast, he began to think that he was not altogether the solitary, deserted and sorrow-doomed being he had so lately considered himself. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that the Faitan, in which Rode Markham and his friend the Republican entered a spacious shrubbery through which a wide avenue led to the front door of a very beautiful country residence near Richmond. The dwelling was not large, but its external appearance seemed to bear ample testimony to its interior comfort. A domestic and a plain and unpretending library appeared at the door the moment the Faitan stopped, and the count himself met his visitors in the hall to welcome their arrival. The nobleman shook hands with Armstrong in the most cordial manner, and when Richard was introduced to him, he received him with the courtesy and warm affability which showed how much any friend of Armstrong's was valued by the Italian exile. The guests were ushered into the drawing-room, where the countess and her daughter and two gentlemen who were also visitors were seated. But while we allow Richard time to get acquainted with the family of the Italian noble, we must give the reader a brief description of the new characters now introduced upon the stage. Count Alteroni was about forty years of age. His hair and whiskers originally of a deep black were tinged prematurely gray, but his mustachios were of the darkest jet. His complexion was of a clear olive, in figure he was tall, well-formed, and muscular, though slight. His countess was expressive of great dignity, one would almost say of conscious superiority, but his softness of aspect and the nobility of demeanor which distinguished him failed to produce any unpleasant impression, in as much as everyone who approached the count was charmed with the affability of his manners and the condescending kindness of his tone. The countess was about two years younger than her husband, and was of a complexion and cast of countenance which denoted her northern origin. In fact, she was a German lady of high birth, but she spoke Italian, French, and English with as much facility as her own tongue. But what of Isabella? To say that she was beautiful were to say nothing. Her aspect was resplendent with all those graces which innocence lavishly diffuses over the liniments of loveliness. She was sixteen years old, and her dark black eyes were animated with all the fire of that impassioned age, when even the most rugged paths of life seemed adorned and strewed with flowers. Her mouth was small, but her lips were full and pouting, and revealed when she smiled a set of beautifully white and even teeth. Her hair was dark as the ravens wing, and was invariably arranged in the most natural and simple manner. Her brows were exquisitely penciled, and as her large black eyes were the mirror of her pure and guileless soul, when she glanced downward, and those expressive orbs were concealed by their long black fringes, it seemed as if she were drawing a veil over her thoughts. Her complexion was that of a roulette, but the pure red blood shone in her vermilion lips and her rose-tinted nostrils, and mantled by her pure brow with the crimson hue which any passion was excited. Her silph-like figure was modeled with the most perfect symmetry. Her waist was so delicate and her hands and feet so small that it was easy to perceive she came of a patrician blood, and the swell of her bosom gave a proper brownness to her form without expanding into proportions that might be termed voluptuous. In manners, disposition, and accomplishments, Isabella was equally calculated to charm all her acquaintances. Having finished her education in England, she had united all the solid morality of English manners, with the sprightliness and vivacity of her native clime, and as she was without levity and frivolity she was also entirely free from any insipid and ridiculous affectations. She was alertness itself, her manners commanded universal respect, and her bearing alone repressed the impertence of the libertine's gaze. With a disposition naturally lively she was still attached to serious pursuits, and her mind was well stored with all useful information and embellished with every feminine accomplishment. The two gentlemen who were present in the drawing room when Armstrong and Richard arrived were two young bows, members of the aristocracy, and this was their only recommendation. It was not, however, on this account that they had obtained a footing in the Count's abode, but because they were nearly related to a deceased English general who had taken part with the Italians against the French during the career of Napoleon, and had been of essential service to the family to which the Count belonged. With regard to their exterior, suffice it to say, they were dressed in the extreme of fashion, one was very effeminate in appearance, having neither whiskers nor the slightest appearance of a beard, and the other was rather good-looking, sporting an insipid moustachio and worn undressed military uniform. The effeminate young gentleman was introduced to Armstrong and Markham by the name of Sir Cherry Bounce, and the moustachioed one as the honourable Smylex Drapper, a captain at the age of twenty in his Majesty's Regiment of Hussars. During the hour which intervened between the arrival of the new guests and the announcement of dinner, a conversation ensued which will serve to throw some light upon the characters of those inmates of the hospitable abode, whom we have as yet only partially introduced to our readers. You reside in a very pleasant and healthy part of London, Mr. Markham, said the Count. I'm well acquainted with the situation of your mansion and grounds, from the description which my friend Armstrong has given me. The house stands close by hill, on the summit of which there are two trees. Ah, indeed, ejaculated Sir Cherry Bounce. The other day I wove by there for the first time in my life, and I remember the house as very beautifully situated in the neighbourhood of the hill, the thwip of the Count, and with two aft-tweeth on the top. That is my house, said Richard, but it is antiquated, gloomy-looking pile, but— Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. It is the tweed at little place I've ever thought. I never thought but that time, and I was thwuck with a wee-weave remarkable appearance of the hill and the tweed. Those trees were planted many years ago by my brother and myself, said Markham, a deep shade of melancholy suddenly over-clouding his countenance, and they yet remained there as the tristing mark for a strange appointment. Indeed, said the Count, and as Richard saw that Isabella was also interested in his observations, he determined to gratify the sentiment of curiosity which he had excited. It's nearly seven years since that event took place. My elder brother disputed with my father, and determined to leave home and choose some career for himself, which he hoped might lead to fortune. He and I parted upon that hill, beneath those trees, with the understanding that in twelve years we were to meet again upon that same spot, and then compare our respective fortunes and worldly possessions. On the 10th of July, 1848, that appointment is to be kept. And during the seven years which have already elapsed, have you received no tidings of your brother, inquired Isabella? All that I know is that on Christmas Day, 1836, he was alive, for he went to the hill, while I was absent from home, and carved his name upon the tree that he himself planted. Strike me stupid if that isn't the most romantic thing I ever heard of! exclaimed Captain Drapper, caressing him as his moustachio. You ought to write a copy of Betheth upon the remarkable incident. In Miss Isabella's album, observed Sir Cherrybounce, So I would strike me if I was half such a good poet as you, Cherry, returned the Captain. You wrote them very pithy poetry the other day upon the great thief-urpent, Simlax, said the effeminate Baronet, and I don't know why you shouldn't do the same by the two ath-weep. Yes, but strike me ugly, Mrs. Isabella would not let me insert them in her album, observed the Captain. That was very unkind. Bella says that you undertook to finish a butterfly and spoil it, exclaimed the count laughing. And now a theme for the word, like an enormous fog, said Sir Cherry. Now really, Bounce, that is too bad, drawed the Captain playing with his moustachio. I appeared to the senora herself, whether the butterfly was so very, very bad. Bring it to be your first attempt, said the young lady. It was not so very much a miss. And I must say that I preferred the butterfly to the lines upon the sea-serpent. Well, may I perish, cried the Hussar, if I think the lines were so bad, but we will refer them to Mr. Markham. Not that I dispute Mrs. Isabella's judgment. I'd rather have my moustachios singed than do that. But the verthith, the verthith, cried Sir Cherry. I am afraid that my talent does not justify such a reference to it, said Markham, and I should rather imagine that Miss Isabella's decision will admit of no appeal. My dear sir, we will have your opinion. The verthith were composed in a her way, and they may not be quite, though, excellent and faultless as they might be. I only devouted half an hour to them, strike me if I did. Let's see, how do they begin? continued the effeminate young baronet of nineteen. Oh, I remember, the opening is simple, but expressive. Through the sea the serpent swallows, moving, ever, twix the poles, frightening, hairless, prath, and thaws, in his pog-west wabbit, swallowing up the mighty serpent, by the suction of his lips, onward till the monster twips, Well, strike me, interupted the captain, if ever I heard poetry spouted like that before, please listen to me, Mr. Markham, this is the way the poem opens. Through the sea the serpent rolls, moving, ever, twix the poles, frightening, hairless, praths, and thaws, in his pog-west wabbit, swallowing up the mighty ships, by the motion of his lips, onward like the monster trips, like, no, that isn't the way, cried Sir Cherry. Well, strike me, if I'll say another word more, then return the captain of Hussars, apparently very much inclined to cry. I'm sure Miss Isabella was wrong not to have inserted these verses in her albums, and Armstrong with a smile of good-natured satire, but I know that my young friend, Mr. Markham, has a more refined taste with regard to poetry than he chose just now to admit. Indeed, said the beautiful Isabella. I should be delighted to hear Mr. Markham's sentiments upon the subject of poetry, for I confess that I myself entertain very singular notions in that respect. It is difficult to afford a minute definition of what poetry is. For, like the unearthly visitants, which the fears of superstition have occasionally summoned to the world, poetry fascinates the senses, but eludes the grasp of the beholder, and stands before him visible, powerful, and yet impalpable. I concur with your views, Miss Isabella, said Markham, delighted to hear amidst the frivolity of the conversation remarks which exhibited sound, sense, and judgment. It is impossible to set forth in any array of words the subtlety and peculiarity of poetry which soars above the powers of language and defies the reach of description. Yes, said Isabella, the painter cannot place the rainbow or the glittering dew drop upon his canvas. The sculptor cannot invest his image with a soul, and it seems equally difficult to define poetry. We know of what we are speaking when we allude to it, but there are no definitions which give us views of it sufficiently comprehensive. Well, strike me, if I didn't think that everything with rhymes or in lines of certain lengthless poetry observed the captain of Cusar's. My daughter can explain the mystery to you, said the countess, surveying Isabella with pride and maternal enthusiasm. Isabella blushed deeply. She feared that she had intruded her remarks upon the company and dreaded to be considered vain or anxious for display. Markham immediately perceived the nature of her thoughts and skillfully turned the conversation to the poetry of her native land and thence to the leading characteristics and features of Italian life. Dinner was at length announced, and Richard had the felicity of conducting the lovely daughter of the count to the dining room and of occupying a seat by her side during the banquet. Recording by Lynn Thompson The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 39 The Dream Three weeks passed away in a most agreeable manner, and Richard frequently expressed his gratitude to Armstrong for the pleasure he had procured him by this visit. The more he saw of Count Outeroni's daughter, the more he was compelled to admire her personal and mental qualifications, but he felt somewhat annoyed when he discovered that Captain Smilax Dapper was paying his addresses to her, for he was interested in so charming a young lady and would have regretted to see her throw herself away on such a coxcomb. He did not, however, find that Isabella gave the Captain any encouragement. On the contrary, he had frequently seen an erratic smile of contempt upon her lips when the military aspirant to her hand uttered an absurdity or indulged in an air of affectation. By the constant and unvaried respect and the absence of all familiarity on the part of Dapper towards the lovely Italian, Markham also argued that he had not as yet declared his sentiments, because had he been a favoured suitor the truth would have betrayed itself in some trifling manner or another. Moreover, as Isabella conducted herself in only just the same friendly way towards Captain Dapper as she manifested towards her father's other guests, Richard saw no reason to believe that his passion was reciprocal. Markham was so much in a signora's society during his visit at her father's house. He soon perceived that she preferred a conversation upon edifying and intellectual subjects to the frivolous chit-chat of Sir Cherry Bounce and Captain Dapper, and he frequently found himself carrying on a lengthened discourse upon music, poetry, painting, and Italian literature, while the others were amusing themselves in the billiard or smoking rooms. But Isabelle with no blue stocking, she was full of vivacity in life and her conversation was sprightly and agreeable, even when turning upon those serious subjects. In a few days after Richard's arrival, it was always he who turned the leaves of Isabella's music book, because Captain Dapper didn't know when. She always took his arm when they walked round the shrubbery and garden after breakfast because Captain Dapper was constantly leaving her to play Sir Cherry some trick, and somehow or another at mealtimes Richard and Isabella were invariably seated next to each other. Such was the state of things at the expiration of three weeks, to which extent, although contrary to the original proposal of Armstrong, the visit had already extended and Captain Smilak Dapper more than once fancied that he saw arrival in Richard Markham, at length he determined to communicate his suspicions to his friend Sir Cherry Bounce, a resolution which he carried into effect in the following manner. Cherry, my dear fellow, said he one morning, taking the effeminate young baronet with him into the garden, up the gravel walks of which he walked in a very excited state. Cherry, my dear fellow, I have something upon my mind strike me, and I wish to unburden myself to you. Do you, Smilak, what can possibly be the matter, demanded the youth turning very pale. Is it very terrible, because if it is, I had better call the count, and he will bring the blunderbath. Strike me an idiot, Cherry, if you ain't to fall with your counts and blunderbusses, now listen to me, I love Isabella, and have been doing the agreeable to her. On my soul I could never see it. I dare say not. Strike me, if I didn't keep it so precious snug and quiet. However, I love the girl, and curse me if I don't have her too, that's more. She shall be Mrs. Smilak's dapper, as sure as she is born, and I hope the mother of a whole regiment of little Smilakses, and then Cherry, you shall stay a month or six weeks with us at a time, and fondle the little ones on your knees. You shall, and everything will go uncomfortable and smooth. Oh, very smooth! cried Sir Cherry Bounce, making a slight grimace at the pleasing prospect of fondling the little dappers upon his knees. And I suppose I am not presumptuous and inspiring to the hand of Isabella. My father is a peer, my uncle is a peer, and I have three thousand a year of my own, beside expectations. Strike me, if I'm a man to be sneezed at. Who thinks of sneezing at you? I don't know exactly, and then I am not such a very bad looking fellow either. You are not ugly Cherry, you are not, that is, not particularly ugly, although you have got pink eyes and white lashes and a pug nose, but I'm more athletic strike me. I'm thorough, I don't dispute what you say. Well then, acknowledging all this, proceeded the captain. How should I treat a fellow who endeavours to cut me out? Selling him to a fight with sword and pistol, answered Sir Cherry, but who is he? That upstart fellow, Malcolm, who was brought here by that odious republican seditious disloyal scandal Armstrong, and who talks all day about poetry and music, and God knows what. However, I can't say I admire that plan of yours, continued the Hussar. Swords and pistols, you know, are so very dangerous and, and what else? Why, you're a fool Cherry. I thought you would have hit upon some plan to enable me to secure the prize. Well then, supposing we carry the girl off to Wattita for infant. Juice take Rochester. My regiment is quartered at Chattain. Well, to Canterbury then. Yes, that would do. Strike me blind if it won't ejaculate it the captain. But if I could only get rid of this Malcolm somehow or another, I should prefer it. The fellow, Captain Smilax Dapper, stopped short for at that moment, as he and his companion were turning the angle of a summer house. They ran against Richard Malcolm. Wasn't me, wasn't me who spoke, ejected Sir Cherry bounce, and having uttered these words, he very fairly took to his heels, leaving his friend the captain to settle matters as beat he might. Who was taking a most unwarrantable liberty with my name, demanded Richard walking straight up to Captain Smilax Dapper. I certainly made an observation, answered the captain, turning mighty pale, and I do not hesitate to say, Sir. What, Sir? Why, Sir, that I feel, Sir, that strike me, Sir? Yes, Sir, I shall strike you, very coolly answered Malcolm, and that will teach you not to speak lightly of one who is a comparative stranger to you on another occasion. As he uttered these words, he seized the captain by the collar and gave him a couple of boxes on the ears. Dapper endeavored to pluck up a spirit and resist, but the ceremony was performed before he could release himself from his assailants' clutches, and he then returned to the house, muttering threats of vengeance. That same afternoon, Malcolm took leave of his new friends. On his return home, he found his dwelling more lonely and cheerless than ever. He found that he was isolated in the world, and his heart seemed to be pierced with a red hot iron, when the remembrance of all his wrongs returned to his imagination. Oh, if he would but study the alphabet of fate, and remember that each leaf which falls, each flower that dies, is but the emblem of man's kindred dew, how much of the coldness, the selfishness, the viciousness of life, will be swept away, and earth will be but a proof sheet of heaven's fairer volume, with errors and imperfections it is true, but still susceptible to correction and amendment, ere its pages be unfolded before the high chancery of heaven. Spring now asserted its tranquil rain once more, and May strewed the earth with flowers, and covered the trees with foliage. One evening, Richard Satan, in his library, reading until a very late hour, night came, and found him at his studies, and the morning dawned ere he thought of retiring to slumber. He hastened to his bedroom door, with the intention of seeking his couch, but he felt no inclination to sleep. He walked up to the window, drew aside the curtain, and gazed forth into the open air. The partial obscurity seemed to hang like a dusky veil against the windows, but by degrees the darkness yielded to the gray light of the dawn. He glanced in the direction of the hill, upon the summit of which stood the two trees. And he thought of his brother. He wondered for the thousandth time whether the appointment would be eventually kept, and why Eugene came not to revisit the home at his birth. He was in the midst of cogitations like these, when his eyes were suddenly struck by an object, which seemed to be moving between the trees upon the top of the hill. A superstitious fierce seized upon Richard's mind, and the first moment of his surprise, he imagined that the apparition of his brother had been led back to the tristing place by those leafy banners that proclaimed the covenant of the heart. But he speedily divested himself of that momentary alarm, and smiled at his folly, in believing it to be extraordinary that anyone should visit the hill at that early hour. The object was still there. It was a human being, and as the morning gradually grew brighter, he was unable to distinguish that it was a man. But that was the hour at which laborers went to their daily toils. Still, why should one of those peasants linger upon the top of the hill, to reach which he must have gone out of his way? Markham felt an indescribable curiosity to repair to the hill, but he was ashamed to yield to the superstitious impulse under the influence of which he had all more or less laboured. And the sudden disappearance of the object of his anxiety from the tiny hill confirmed him in his resolution to remain in his chamber. He accordingly closed the blind and retired to his couch, where he shortly sank into a deep slumber. Markham was now plunged into the aerial world of dreams. First he saw himself walking by the side of Isabella in a cool and shady grove, where the birds were singing cheerily in the trees, and it seemed to him that there reigned a certain understanding between himself and his fair companion, which allowed him to indulge in the most delightful of tender hopes. He pressed her hand. She returned the token of affection and love. Suddenly the scene was rudely interrupted. From a deep recess in the grove appeared a wretch covered with rags, dirty and revolting in appearance, with matted hair, parched and cracked lips, wild and ferocious eyes, and a demoniac expression of countenance. Isabella screamed. The wretch advanced, grasped Richard's hand, gave utterance to a horrible laugh, and claimed his friendship, the friendship of Newgate. It seemed to Richard that he made a desperate effort to withdraw his band from that rude grasp, and the attempt instantly awoke him. He opened his eyes, but the horror experience in his dream was now prolonged, for a human countenance was bending over him. It was not, however, the distorted, hideous and fearful one which he had seen in his vision, but a countenance handsome, though very pale, and whose features were instantly familiar to him. Eugene, my brother, Eugene, dearest Eugene, ejaculated Richard, as he stretched out his arms to embrace him whom he thus adjured. But scarcely had his eyes opened upon that countenance when it was instantly withdrawn, and Richard remained for a few moments in his bed, deprived of all power of motion, and endeavouring to ensure himself whether he was awake or in a vision. A sudden impulse roused him from his lethargy. He sprang from his couch, rushed toward the door, and called aloud for his brother. The door was closed when he reached it, and no trace seemed to denote that any visitor had been in that chamber. He threw on a dressing-gown, hurried downstairs, and found all the doors fast closed and locked as usual at that hour. He opened the front door and looked forth, but no one was to be seen. Bewildered and alarmed, he returned to his bedchamber, and once more sought his couch. He again fell asleep in the midst of numerous and conflicting conjectures relative to the incident which had just occurred. And when he awoke two hours afterwards, he was feigned to persuade himself that it was all a dream. He dressed himself and walked towards the hill. On his arrival at the top, he instinctively cast his eyes upon the name and date carved in the bark of his brother's tree. But how great was his surprise, how ineffable his joy, when he beheld fresh traces of the same hand imprinted on that tree, beneath the former mementos and still fresh and green, as if they had only been engraved a few hours with the words, Eugene, May 17th, 1838. My God! exclaimed Richard. It was then no dream. He threw himself upon the seat, between the two trees, and wept abundantly. End of Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Of the Mysteries of London This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org, recording by Gaby Cowan. The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds. Chapter 40 The Speculation An Unwelcome Meeting Five months elapsed, and in the middle of October, Richard received an invitation to pass a few days at the abode of Count Alteroni. He contemplated change of scene with onfane delight, and lost no time in repairing to Richmond. The Count received him with the utmost cordiality. The Countess expressed a regret that he should wait to be solicited to honor them with his company. An Isabella's countenance wore a smile and a blush as she extended her hand towards him. I was anxious to see you again, said the Count after dinner before the ladies had retired. If it were only to joke you about the fright into which you threw poor pounds the last time you were here, Isabella apprehended a deal between you and Dapper, but we never could learn the origin of your dispute. Indeed, I scarcely dreaded such an event, said Isabella. For however capable Mr. Markham may be of fighting, I felt perfectly well convinced that Capitan Dapper could not be induced to commit such a breach of the peace. Our dispute was a mere trifle, said Markham, and I am sorry it should have reached your ears. The Trojan War sprung from a trifle, cried the Count. But these trifles are frequently very interesting. The truth is, said Richard, that I overheard Capitan Dapper abuse me to his companion. Heaven only knows why. Sir Cherry Bounds started away, and I was compelled to give the junk officer a couple of boxes upon the ears to teach him courtesy in the future. Isabella laughed heartily at this anecdote, and Markham felt indescribable happy when he thus received a convincing proof that the lovely Italian was in no way interested in that aspirant to her hand. I shall not invite those gentlemen here very readily again, observed the Count. I thought that they would have held to pass away the time agreeably, but one was such a fool and the other such a fob, that I was really glad to get rid of them. However, I have now something else to occupy my attention. The Count is going to speculate in an English company, said the Countess. We foreigners, you know, Mr. Markham, are struck with the facility with which enormous fortunes are built up in your country. Italy has lost all her commerce, added the Count, with a sigh. Poor Italy. With all due deference to your experience, said Markham, I should counsel you to be particularly careful how you allow yourself to be deluded by visionaries and adventurers. Oh, the gentleman who has proposed to me certain schemes for the realization of immense fortune is a man of poverty and honor. The truth is that the political condition of Italy may possibly compel me to remain an exile from my native land for the rest of my existence, and I am anxious to turn the means now within my reach to the best advantage for my daughter. Do you know, my dear father? said Isabella, her eyes filling with tears, that I can be contented with a little, a very little. I think I have before informed you that I lost considerable portion of my own property to the nefarious speculations of an adventurer, observed Richard, and I must confess that I look with a suspicious eye upon all schemes which induce us to change realities for chances. You possess, Count, all that you require to make your happy during your exile. Why should you size and language after immense wealth? This senior abbey stole a glance of gratitude upon Markham, who also rose considerable in the estimation of the Countess. Indeed, both the ladies were very much averse to the Count's ideas of speculating, and there were delighted to find in their visitor so able an advocate of their opinions. I consider, resumed the Count, that a man is bound to do the best he can to increase the property he has to give his offspring, and, as my own state in Castile Chicala is confiscated, and I have nothing to rely upon but a certain sum of ready money. I am determined to best the greater portion of it in an enterprise which will produce immense returns. And what made the nature of the undertaking be, inquired Markham. A line of steam packets between London and Montoni, the capital of Castile Chicala, such an enterprise could absorb all the commerce now enjoyed by Lughorn and Civita Vecchia, and Montoni would be the great mercantile port of Italy. The scheme certainly seems plausible, observed Richard, and guided by your experience may realize your expectations. I could rather see you embarking money in such an undertaking that in those desperate and outrageous ones which have nothing but their originality to recommend them. The Count smiled with triumph and satisfaction at having those disarm the opposition of his young friend to the projected speculation. On the following day Count Alteroni repaired to London and did not return home until dinner time. After dinner, when he and Richard were sitting alone together, sipping their claret, the Count set in a semi-mysterious and confidential manner. I have this morning broken the ice, indeed I have made the first plunge, I have confided the necessary funds to Mr. Greenwood. That is the name of the gentleman with whom I am to cooperate, and he will immediately busy himself with the foundation of the enterprise. I shall not, however, mention this to the Countess and Isabella for a few days, for in commercial matters ladies always entertain apprehensions which keep one, what you English call, the blue devils. Richard made an observation. The evil, if evil it were, was done, and he did not choose to fill the count with apprehensions which might eventually prove to be unfounded. The conversation upon the subject accordingly dropped for the present, and the two gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. Several weeks glided away and Markham still remained at Richmond. His acquaintance with the Count's family rapidly expanded into an intimacy which gave him unfeigned pleasure. The Count treated him as a near-reactive, almost as a son. Ty Countess was charmed with him because he could converse upon German literature and history, and where the parents were so encouraging, how could the daughter be reserved? Isabella was naturally of a frank and confiding disposition, and she soon learned to consider Markham as a very intimate friend of the family. Whenever he hinted at the necessity of returning to his own home, he expressed his fears that he was intruding upon the hospitality of his kind hosts. Isabella always had some cause ready to delay his departure. As soon as her father and mother had concluded their own entreaties for him to prolong his visit, Markham had nothing to occupy his attention elsewhere, and he was thus easily induced to remain in a mansion where he received so much kindness, and where there was an attraction that lately disclosed new charms and revealed fresh spells. It was in the middle of December that Markham was walking on a fine frosty morning with Isabella alone the high road in the immediate vicinity of the Count's dwelling. When he noticed a strange arid, repulsive-looking individual following them at a short distance, at first he supposed that the man's way lay in the same direction which he and his fair companion were pursuing. He accordingly turned with Isabella into another path, and to his misfortune and annoyance found that he was still followed by the stranger whose dilapidated appearance, long black matted hair, wicks, beard, filthy person, and sinister expression of countenance fill him with alarming, suspicious. He remembered his dream, and a shother passed through his frame. Determined to ascertain the motive of this man's perseverance in dogging him does, he conducted Isabella by a short cut back to the house, and retraced his steps to encounter the person who was still following him. The man advanced towards him with a dogged and determined air, and yet downcast eyes, which were buried beneath his projecting temples and shaggy brows. Hello, my fine fellow, he exclaimed. When he came within a few yards of Richard, you don't mean to say that you have forgotten an old pal? What, Anthony, is this you? said Markham, turning deadly pale, as he recognized one of his fellow prisoners in Newgate. It was the resurrection man. Yes, it's me, poor Tony Titkins. But now permit me to ask you a question or two. What are you doing now? Who lives there? And what young girl was that you were walking about with? And by what right did you dare to put off insolent queries to me? cried Markham, surveying the Rufian with mingle indignation and disgust. Oh, I, if you don't choose to answer my questions, I can precious soon ascertain all the truth for myself. Cooley replied the resurrection man, who never once looked Markham in the face. Then, having uttered these words, he advanced a few paces as if he were about to seek the Count's dwelling. Rich, I, what did you mean to do? ejaculated Richard, herring after him and detaining him by the arm. You do not know that that abode is sacred. That is the residence of poverty, innocence and honor, that if you were to breathe a hint who and what you are, you could be a spurned from the door. Ah, I am accustomed to that in this Christian land, in this land of Bibles and missionary societies, said the resurrection man bitterly. Then, resuming his dogged soreliness of tone, he added, but at all events I can first ask for alms and a morsel of bread at that house, and thereupon state that the gentleman who was just now walking with a young lady belonging to the house was a companion of mine in Newgate, a communication which will tend to preserve the innocence, honor, poverty and all the rest of it of that family. With these words he again set off in the direction of the accounts abode. Confusion, exclaimed Markham, this man will now affect my ruin. A second time did he stop the resurrection man as he advanced towards the residence of the Italians. Well, what now? Is it not a man and liberty to walk which way he chooses? You cannot be so base as to betray me, you could not ruin my happiness forever, said Richard, in whose mind the particulars of his dream were now uppermost. And why should I have any regard for you, since you receive and treat me, it I was a dog? I really did not mean, oh bother to all apologies, cried the resurrection man ferociously. My God, what did you want of me? What can I do for you? exclaimed Richard, uncertain how to act, and his mind a prey to the most painful emotions, for he already fancied that he saw himself exposed, vanished from the accounts hospitable roof separated from Isabella without a chance of reconciliation and reproach for having intruded himself upon the society of a virtuous and untainted family. The mere anticipation of such an afflicting series of incidents was more than he could bear, and he was prepared to make any sacrifices to a bird so terrible an occurrence. I may obtain from you fears what I should not have got from your generosity, exclaimed the resurrection man, but it doesn't matter what motive produces it so long as I get it. And what is that you require? asked Richard hastily, but let us walk aside. They may seem from the windows. And what do I care if they do? brutally demanded the resurrection man. I suppose I shall suffer in character by talking to a companion in former misfortunes, he added in a sarcastic tone. There was something peculiarly revolting about that man. His dead-like countenance, jet-black whiskers, shaggy brows, averted glances, and horrible nickname, all combined to render him a loathsome and disgusting object. The contact of such a wretch was like plonking one's hand amidst the spawn of toads, but the savage irony of this monster, oh, that was utterly intolerable, Richard Wright vened it. Now I'll tell you what it is, said the resurrection man, who probably by this time saw that he had reduced the young man to apply abilities suitable for his purposes. If you only will be civil, I'll accommodate you to the utmost of my power. Let us walk away from the house. We can then talk more at our ease. Richard accompanied the miscreant a short distance, and then they again stopped, but no longer within view of the Count's residence. You can't doubtless suppose what I want, said the resurrection man, turning suddenly round upon Markham and looking him full in the face for the first time. Money, I presume, Richard replied. Yes, money, I know that you were in expectation of a great fortune when you were in Newgate, and I suppose you have not run through it all yet. I was almost totally ruined during my imprisonment by the unfortunate speculations in which my guardian engaged, answered Markham mournfully. That's all my eye, nevertheless, I won't be hard upon you. I know that you have got a splendid house, and a grand estate close by. A few acres of land as heaven is my witness. Well, you may try it on as much as you like, but I tell you plainly. It won't do for me. Let us cut this matter devilish short, and come to some understanding at once. I am hard up. I don't know what to turn my hand to for a moment, and I have no idea what to do. And I can't get orders from the stiffens as I just to do. All that I have told you about the loss of my property is quite true, said Markham, and I have now but little more than a bear two hundred a year to live upon. Well, I will be generous and let you off easy, said the resurrection man. You shall give me for the present. For the present, repeated Markham, all the terror of his mind again between itself. If I make any arrangement with you at all, it would be upon the express condition that you would never molest me more. Be it so, said the resurrection man, whom the promise cost nothing, and who knew that there was nothing to bide him to its implicit performance. Give me five hundred pounds, and I will never seek you out again. Five hundred pounds, exclaimed Richard. I cannot command the money. Not a mag less will I take, said the extortioner, with a determined air and voice. I really cannot comply with the proposal. I have not the money. I do not know where to get it. Why did you persecute me in this way? What harm have I ever done to you? Why should you seek to ruin me and to annihilate all my hopes of again establishing myself in an honorable position in society? Tell me, by what right, by what law, did you endeavor to extort, widely and famously extort, this money from me? No pen could describe, no painter to pick the singular expression of the countenance, which the resurrection man wore as these words fell upon his ears. He knew not whether to burst out into a fit of laughter, or to utter a bolly of implications against his former companion in Newgate, and so, not to be wrong by doing one and omitting the other, he did both. His ironical and ferocious laugh fell horribly upon the ears of Markham, who was at the same time assailed by such a string of oaths and blasphemies that he trembled. You want to know by what law and right I demand money of you? cried the wretch, when he had indulged in this outpouring of laughter and implications to his heart's content. Well, I will tell you, my law is that practiced by all the world, the oppression of the weak by the strong, and my right is also that of universal practice, the right of him who takes what will not dare to be refused. Now, then, you understand me, and if not, bear my resolution. Speak, said Richard, now thoroughly cooled and disarmed, and let me know the worst at once. You have confirmed my suspicion that you are caught in the young girl I saw you walking with. You have confirmed that suspicion by your manner and your words. Now, I require five hundred pounds, and if you are anxious that your fair one should remain in ignorance of your old, faily adventures, you had better comply with my terms. I positively declared that I have not the money, said Richard. Make it. But how? For a weight of the young lady's father or mother or uncle or aunt. Never impossible. You say that you have a few acres of land left. I believe you have more, but let that take your own statement. Upon those few acres, you can easily borrow the money I require. And diminish my miserable income still more? Yes, or no, without further grumbling. You must be well aware that this sacrifice is necessary if the girl's worth having. In the name of heaven, allude not to the young lady with whom you saw me here now. Allude not to her in this disgraceful manner, cried Marham. For when the lips of that horrible man framed a sentiment which bore reference to Isabella, it seemed to Richard as if a loathsome serpent was pouring its slimy venom on a sweet and blooming flower. Would you give me that money? demanded the resurrection man. I will give you two hundred pounds. I have no more. I can't get no more. I will not raise any more upon my property. Can't be done. Return the ruffian. I will have the five hundred or nothing. It will take me some days to procure the money, said Marham, gilding gradually. Never mind. Give me what you have about you for the present purposes. And name the day and place for me to receive the rest. Marham took his purse from his pocket and examined its contents. There were seventeen sovereigns at that moment at his command. He retained two and handed fifteen to the resurrection man who pocketed them with a savage glee. Now this looks like business, said he, and an earnest that Jew will do the thing that aright. Where and when were the remainder? In a fortnight I will meet you at any place you may name in London, answered Marham. Well, make it a fortnight. Do you know the dark house in Brick Lane, Bed Null Green? What is this? As creatures shothering at the name. A public house. Anyone will tell you what it is. This day for night I shall expect to find you there at eight o'clock in the evening. If I don't happen to be punctual, you can wait for me, and if I don't come that night, I shall the next. Remember how much depends upon your fulfilment of the contract. I shall not fail, answered Richard, with a sinking of the heart which none can understand who have not been placed in a similar position. And you and your part will adhere to your side of the agreement? Mute as a mouse, said the resurrection man, and should I afterwards meet you by accident, I shall not know you. Farewell. With these words the resurrection man turned away and pursued his course towards London. Marham followed him with his eyes until he turned an angle off the road and was no longer to be seen. Then only did Richard breathe freely. End of Chapter 40, Recording by Gaby Cowan Chapter 41 of the Mysteries of London This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org Recording by Gaby Cowan The Mysteries of London by George Reynolds Chapter 41 Mr. Greenwood About six o'clock in the evening, ten days after the incident which concluded the preceding chapter, a handsome cabrilet dropped up to the door of a house in a spring garden. Down jumped the tiger, an urchin no much bigger than a walking stick and awaited when the knocker rat-tat-tat for upwards of fifteen seconds. A servant in livery opened the door and an elegantly dressed gentleman about six or seven and twenty years of age alighted from the vehicle. This gentleman rushed upstairs to his study, drew forth his checkbook, wrote an order upon his banker for a thousand pounds, enclosed it in an envelope, and immediately dispatched the letter to Lord Tremortin by one of his numerous domestics. He had that afternoon lost the money to his lordship in some sporting bed, and, as it was a deft of honor, he could not possibly think of sitting down to dinner or even pulling off his boots, which being fashionable pinched him excessively, without settling it. As soon as he had done this, another servant entered the room and said, If you please, sir, Mrs. Mangels has called and is waiting below to see you. She has been here these three hours and wishes very much to say a few words to you. What? That bothering upholsterer's wife ejaculated the gentleman in a tone of indignation, which would have induced a stranger to believe that he was the most persecuted man in the world. Why? Her husband's account hasn't been owing quite a year yet, and here she is boring from morning to night. Please, sir, she says that her husband is locked up in a sponging house. Sir, him right, but he is a hard-working sober man. He shouldn't run into that, and he has five children. It is really disgusting these lower orders literally swarm with children, and if you would only pay a quarter of the money he would get out tonight. I won't pay a six-pence till January. Then he will be totally ruined, sir, his wife says. Well, he must be ruined, then. Go and turn her out and set up La Fleur. And the fashionable gentleman who could not owe a theft of honor for half an hour, dot no more of the sum which was due to a tradesman, which had been already owing for nearly a year, and which he could have immediately settled without the slightest inconvenience to himself. For this man was rich, and having got his money in the city, god knows how, had now come to the West End to make the most of it. La Fleur, said the fashionable gentleman to the French ballet, she must dismiss that fellow John tomorrow morning. Yes, sir. He actually had the impertinence to bring me a message from Adon, while I was in a hurry to get dressed for dinner. Indeed, sir, you don't say so, sir. Ejaculated the ballet who had as much horror of Adon as an overseer has of a pauper. Just, sir, I will dismiss him tomorrow, sir, and without a character, too. Do La Fleur, now to dress. Are the company come? Mr. Cheese Chester and Sir Robert Harper are in the drawing room, sir. Oh, said Mr. Greenwood, for such was the gentleman's name. Very well. Having carelessly perused three or four letters which he found upon his table, he repaired to his dressing room, where he watched his hands in a silver basin. While the poor, upholstered wife returned to her husband in the lock-up house to say that their last hope had failed, and that nothing but Adeptor's jail awaited them. Accordingly, while the poor man was being carried off to White Cross street prison, Mr. Greenwood repaired to his elegantly furnished drawing room to welcome the guests, whom he had invited that day to dinner. My dear Sir Robert, said Mr. Greenwood, I am delighted to see you, Cheese Chester. How are you? Where have you both been for the last six months? Excursely had I the pleasure of forming your acquaintance when you were off like shots, and I have never seen nor heard of you till this morning. Upon my honour, I hardly know what we have been doing, or indeed, what we have not been doing, ejaculated the baronet, but we have been in Paris and Brussels and enjoyed all the pleasures of the continent. And we found our way into the wood graces of the Parisian ladies and the purses of their husbands, of Sir Cheese Chester, with a complacent smile. Ha, ha! said Mr. Greenwood, laughing. Trust you both for allowing yourselves to starve in a land of plenty. And so here we are, gone back to England, quite fresh and ready for new sport, said Cheese Chester. You see that it is useful to go abroad for a season every now and then. Immediately after I passed through the insulphins' court, two years ago, I went to Paris for six months and came home again with a new reputation, as it were. By device, Sir Robert, exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, I lost a cool thousand to your father-in-law this afternoon at Tattershawls. What? Does the old lord do things in so spirited a way as that? cried the baronet. Yes, now and then. I believed you and he are not in very good terms. When I asked him after you a month or two ago, he appeared to evade the conversation. The fact is, said the baronet, all Lord and Lady Tremordine pretend that I treat their daughter with neglect just because I cannot and will not be tied to my wife's apron strings. I did not want to marry her, but Lady Tremordine intrigued to catch me, and the old Lord came down handsome, and so the match was made up. The baronet did not think of informing his friend that he had stipulated for twenty thousand pounds to pay his debts. Here he would do justice to the young and beautiful creature whom he had seduced, and whose pathetic appeal to her mother has been already laid before the reader in the chapter which traits of the black chamber of the general post office. Do you know what has become of your old flame, Diana Arlington, inquire Mr. Greenwood of the baronet after a pause? And was she not your old flame too? said Sir Robert, laughing. I believe that when you were playing Mr. George Montague, instead of Mr. Montague Greenwood. Oh, I have assumed the name of Greenwood, remember, because a relation of that name has left me a considerable fortune. Well, that is a very good story to tell the world, but not friends, my dear fellow, said the baronet Cooley. But we were talking of the Encantress. I presume she is still under the protection of the Earl of Warrington? So I understand, replied Greenwood. Well, I must say, continued the baronet. I always liked Diana, and I daresay we should have been together up to the present moment if it had not been for that infernal offer of Markham's. Ah, Richard Markham, ejaculated Mr. Greenwood hastily. I have heard of him, but never seen him. I and Mr. Chischester were compelled to sacrifice him to save ourselves, of Sird Harborough. Yes, yes, it was a pity, a great pity, cried Greenwood poking the fire violently. I wonder what has become of that Saint Markham? said Chischester. I understand that he lost a greater portion of his property by some unfortunate speculation or another, but the nature of which I have never learned, replied Greenwood. And what about this steam-packet company of which you were speaking this morning, inquires Sird Harborough. The fact is, I have got a certain Italian count in tow, and I intend to make him useful. He's an immigrant from the Grand Duchy of Castelcicala, having been concerned in some reasonable proceedings with Prince Alberto, who is the Grand Duke Nepheus, and who has also been compelled to fly to some other country. Be it as it may, discount Alteroni, and I became acquainted, and in the course of conversation he observed that a fortune might be made by the establishment of a line of steam-packets between London and Montoni, the capital of Castelcicala. He added that he should be very willing to embark his own capital in such an enterprise. How extraordinary I immediately exclaimed! I had myself entertained the very same idea. The count was enchanted, and he has already advanced a considerable sum. At this moment dinner was announced, and the three gentlemen proceeded to the apartment in which it was served up. The repass consisted of all the luxuries in season, and many out of season. The choices wines were produced, and justice was done to each and all, while wheat and humor flowed as freely, and as sparkled, as brightly as the juice of the grape itself. The baronet was more affable than ever. Mr. Chichester related several amusing acnectox of midnight's breeze. Policemen knockers station houses and magistrates, and Mr. Wringwood explained his plans relative to the steam-packets. I should very much like to have you both in the direction, said Mr. Montague Greenwood, when he had terminated his elucidations. But I have learned that this Richard Marham, of whom we have been talking, is acquainted with the count, and if he saw your names connected with the effort, he would instantly blow upon it. I should then have the count upon me for the fifteen thousand pounds he has already lodged in my hands. Let us write an anonymous letter to the count and inform him that Marham has been convicted at the Old Bailey, suggested Chichester. No, no, ejaculated Greenwood, emphatically. You have injured that young man enough already. And what did you care about him? cried Chichester. You said just now that you had never seen him. I did, and I repeat the assertion, answered Greenwood. Then, in a very serious tone, he added, and I will beg you both to remember, gentlemen, that if you wish to cooperate with me in any of those speculations, which I know, so well how to manage, you will leave Mr. Richard Marham alone. For I have certain private reasons for being rather anxious to do him a service than an injury. Well, I will not in any way interfere with your wood intentions, said the baronet, nor I observed Chichester. And, as it is impossible for you to enter my esteem packet company, added Mr. Greenwood, I will let you into another wood thing which I have in view, and which a certain banker is concerned. To tell you the real truth, this banker has been insolvent for some time, and if his father had not advanced him about fifty thousand pounds three years ago, he would most undoubtedly have gone to smash. As it was, the Lords of Threshery got hold of his real position by some means or another. He never could divine how, and they refused a tender which he sent in for a certain money contract. I don't know exactly what. Now his position is more desperate than ever, and he and I are going to do an admirable stroke of business. I will let you both into it. We need to scarcely remind the reader that the tanker now alluded to was the writer of one of the letters perused by the examiner's clerks in the black chamber. The conversation between the three gentlemen was proceeding very comfortably when a servant entered the room, and handing his master a card upon a silver tray said, This gentleman, sir, requires to be allowed to see you, if perfectly convenient. The Count of Theroni exclaimed Mr. Greenwood, What the devil could have brought him to London at this time of night? John, show him into the study. There is a good fire for him. And if that won't warm his heart, perhaps a bottle of burgundy well, the servant left the room and, in a few moments, Mr. Greenwood hasn't to join the Count in the elegant apartment which was denominated the study. My dear sir, I have to apologize for calling thus late, said the Count. But the truth is that I had a little business which brought me up to town today, and in this neighborhood too, and I thought, Pray offer no excuses, my dear Count, interrupted Mr. Greenwood. The truth is, I wish to see you very particularly upon a matter not altogether connected with our enterprise. Indeed, said the Count, you interest me, pray explain yourself. In the first place, allow me to ask whether the ladies are yet acquainted with the undertaking in which you have embarked. Yes, I acquainted them with the fact this very morning, and do they approve of it? They approve of everything of which I think well, and disapprove of all that I abhor. And do they know that I am the projector and principal in the enterprise? Demanded Greenwood. They are acquainted with everything, answered the Count. Indeed, they have form of you the same exalted opinion which I myself entertain. It would be strange if they had not. We met you at the house of Lord Tremortin, and that noble man spoke in the highest possible terms of you. But what connection exists between all those questions which you have just put to me, and the matter concerning which you desire to see me? I am not sure that I ought to explain myself at present, nor to you in the first distance, was the answer delivered with some embarrassment of manner. At all events, I should wish you to know a little more of me, and to have some reason to thank me for the little service which I shall have the means of rendering you, in enabling you to travel your capital. The Count appeared mystified, and Mr. Greenwood continued. I had the pleasure of seeing the amiable Countess and her lovely daughter many times last summer at the house of Lord Tremortin, and no one could know the Signora Isabella without being forcibly struck by her personal and mental qualifications. To render myself agreeable to Miss Isabella could be the height of my earthly happiness. You will pardon my presumption, but Mr. Greenwood ceased, and looked at the Count to ascertain the effect which his word had produced. The honorable and open-hearted Italian was not averse to his proposition. He considered his own affairs and prospects in Castel Ciccala to be so desperate that he was bound to make the best provision he could for his daughter in a free, enlightened, and hospitable nation. Mr. Greenwood was good-looking, moving in the best society, well spoken of by a peer of the realm, who, by the way, merely judged of Greenwood's character by punctuality with which he paid his gambling debts, and evidently immensely rich. His manners were elegant, and his taste refined, and, in a word, he might be called a most eligible suitor for the hand of the Count's daughter. Not being over well-skilled in a first of the heart himself, the Count had not noticed the attachment which decidedly existed between Isabella and Richard Marham, and it never for a moment struck him that his daughter might manifest the most powerful repugnance to Mr. Greenwood. I have no doubt, said he, after a long pause, that Isabella will feel highly flattered by your good opinion of her. Indeed, I shall inform her without the late of the manner in which you have expressed yourself. My dear sir, interrupted Greenwood hastily, in the name of heaven tell the Signora nothing at all about our present conversation. Her delicacy would be offended. Rather, give me an opportunity of making myself better known to your daughter. I understand you. Come and pass a week or two with us at Richmond. We have not a soul staying with us at the present moment. Mr. Marham, who was our last guest, having returned to his own abode about ten days ago. This is a busy time with me, began Mr. Greenwood, and I could scarcely expect a week with justice to yourself and my own interests. True, interrupted the Count, I will bring the ladies up to town at the beginning of the new year. We have a very pressing invitation from the Tremordians and will avail myself on it. Mr. Greenwood expressed his gratitude to the Count for the favor which he soothed thus receive. And in a few minutes the Italian novel took his slip, more than ever convinced of the honor, wealth, and business-like habit of Mr. Greenwood. There said a man of the world at he once more seated himself at the table in the dining room, where he had left the baronet and chichester. I have not passed the last hour unprofitably. I have not only demanded the hand of the Count's lovely daughter, but have also persuaded the Count to pay a few weeks' visit to your father-in-law, Lord Tremordine. He added addressing Sir Robert. And what good did you propose by the latter arrangement? demanded the baronet. I shall get the Count's family at a house which Richard Marham stands no chance of visiting, for even if the Count asked him to call upon him there, Marham would refuse. Because he is sure to have read of her that you, Sir Robert, have married Lady Cecilia Hauntingfield, and he would be afraid of meeting you at Lord Tremordine's residence. And why should be so anxious to separate the Count from Marham, since chichester and I are not to be in the steam-packet concern? Because I myself could not, for certain reasons, be seen the Count's family if I stood the chance of meeting that same Richard Marham. Mr. Greenwood then immediately changed the conversation and pushed the bottle frisky about. End of chapter 41, recording by Gabby Cowan.